


Luna Lovegood: the Invisible Girl

by mudbloodmadness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Multi, Slow Burn, The Golden Trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudbloodmadness/pseuds/mudbloodmadness
Summary: The Invisible Girl is a slow burn LONG fic. It delves deeper into The Golden Trio’s stint at Hogwarts (and beyond) from Luna Lovegood’s PoV.‘Loony Lovegood’ is what her fellow students call her behind her back; she knows, of course. Nobody wants to being associated with the girl who claims she can see things that they cannot. In this fic, Luna learns that being ‘invisible’ could work to her advantage...and get her into a spot of trouble.Disclaimer: this is an original story based on J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter. I love the Wizarding World, but I do not agree with J.K. Rowling’s transphobic views.If you want to view this fic on Wattpad, here’s the link to my page:https://www.wattpad.com/user/mudbloodmadness
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue - Luna's Lament

**_Ottery St. Catchpole, 1991_ **

_When I am dead, my dearest,  
Sing no sad songs for me;   
Plant thou no roses at my head,   
Nor shady Cypress tree.  
Be the green grass above me  
With showers and dewdrops wet;   
And if thou wilt, remember,   
And if thou wilt, forget. _

Luna bowed her head and ogled her lukewarm tea. This morning, her father had conjured up a blissful blend of herbs, using basil leaves, dried rose and cardamom, just for her. Its subtle taste took Luna by surprise; his herbal concoctions usually tasted more weird than wonderful. No milk, of course, but a sunny slice of lemon and a gracious spoonful of honey certainly sufficed. It was a rule, however unwritten, that the Lovegoods were never to add milk to a carefully crafted tea.

Xenophilius, who had been writing an article about the benefits of Gnome saliva all morning, threw an absent-minded smile in his daughter’s direction.

“Luna, you don’t happen to remember when that troublesome gnome bit your mother, do you?” he enquired, scribbling his thoughts down onto an old piece of parchment. “As I recall, she got a wonderful case of the Gernumblies!”

“Yes. It was fantastical! She sang opera for hours-” Luna responded delicately, brightening a little. “Though, she wasn’t at all convinced that it was the gnome that gave her the unexpected urge to sing.”

Xenophilius nodded in agreement, “Yes, I remember. That’s exactly what Newt Scamander wrote in his book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Mr. Scamander is adamant that Gnomes possess no such power and that they’re nothing more than garden pests! Can you believe it?”

“How could he be so blind?” she began, “I would like to meet this Mr. Scamander and give him a piece of my mind! Surely, if anybody can educate the Wizarding World about the Gernumblies, it’s you.”

A laugh escaped his lips. He considered Luna to be his greatest supporter. Although, he had once accidentally eavesdropped on a Quibbler reader’s conversation. From it, he picked up that his target audience thought that anybody he came into contact with were likely to believe in ten impossible things before breakfast. That included his daughter. He wobbled his head and put down his pen.

More memories of his late wife surfaced, “your mother was quite an extraordinary witch, you know.”

“I know, daddy” Luna responded, her silvery eyes beginning to pool with hot tears.

“It’s a shame that she didn’t take me seriously, especially when I attempted to caution her about her experiments” said Xenophilius. He glanced at his daughter and noticed her tears. It wasn’t often that he got to be fatherly with her, after all, she was ten and hated to be babied. Xenophilius got up from his spot at the kitchen table and scuttled to Luna’s side.

“There there, my little Luna” he said softly, squeezing her gently. “You’ll shrivel up like a prune, sooner or later, with all those tears”, Xenophilius declared, trying his best to lighten her mood. But his loving touch made Luna miss her mother more, causing her tears to stream quicker down her face. He didn’t like to coddle her, but after witnessing her mother’s horrible death, he needed to. “Grief isn’t linear, you know”, whispered Xenophilius, “it’s okay to cry.”

Pandora Lovegood, Luna’s mother, lived up to her eponym. You see, she was named after the great Pandora of the Ancient Greeks. The all-gifted. She was said to be the first woman ever created by the Gods. With her creation, came responsibility. The Gods bestowed a box upon Pandora and warned her never to open it. Known for her intense curiosity, Pandora did exactly that. Upon opening the box, she released awful things into the world; misery and sadness being just two of these things. Xenophilius was certain that his own Pandora perished as a consequence of her own curiosity. Her experimental spell backfired.

Xenophilius continued to cradle his daughter, “We knew she’d get herself into a pickle. It was just a matter of when. At least she croaked doing something she loved.”

“Yes” Luna mumbled, dragging herself out from her father’s tender grasp. She would never forget her mother’s death and as a writer for The Quibbler, Xenophilius had made sure that nobody else would either.

Luna wiped the tears from her face, she sniffled before exhaling an extended breath of relief. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. Before leaving the kitchen, she gave her father one final hug and gripped his shoulder.

She sluggishly climbed the narrow spiral staircase of the Lovegood Rook. Blue wooden stairs and burnt orange wallpaper; the walls were embellished with striking depictions of magical creatures. Everything had been grey to Luna, for a while, after her mother’s death. It was only after a year that she was finally able to perceive colour again.

At the top of the first landing, Luna was presented with four doors and another staircase. Her parents’ bedroom, the shared bathroom, her bedroom and her mother’s old study. She hadn’t been in that room since the accident. She thought of entering. But no. She was too fragile to handle the emotions that came with being amongst her mother’s belongings. She pushed open the door to her bedroom. As usual, the door creaked and caught on the carpet. Luna shoved harshly at the door and winced as it made a rather disagreeable racket. Inside her room, an amalgamation of vivid stained glass on one half of her window casted her bed in a distorted bath of colour. The light hit a framed photo that permanently rested on Luna’s bedside table. Within the frame was an immortalised moment that Luna treasured; it depicted her and her mother sharing an embrace. Oh, how she missed her mother.

Her windchime, which she peculiarly kept inside, caught her eye. She had hung it, just above her window, like the Muggles at the market had instructed her to do; the Muggles revealed that if she suspended it correctly, the windchime would keep evil away from the house. They lied. A pain struck her deep within her chest; heartbroken by the memory that she had been with her mother the day she purchased the windchime. She lowered her gaze, allowing her dirty-blonde hair to fall into her face. Perhaps she should move it outside. After all this time.

_I shall not see the shadows,  
I shall not feel the rain;   
I shall not hear the nightingale  
Sing on, as if in pain:  
And dreaming through the twilight  
That doth not rise nor set,  
Haply I may remember,   
And haply may forget. _

(Poem: When I am dead, my dearest – Christina Rossetti)


	2. One - Fizzing Whizzbees

**_Ottery St. Catchpole, 1992_ **

Night after night, Luna stirred. She habitually awakened in puddles of her own sweat, unable to peel herself off of her soaked sheets. In the years following her mother’s tragic passing, nightmares plagued her mind; they were often the kind of nightmare that kept somebody paralysed until the break of dawn.

As the months flew by, Xenophilius grew worried about his daughter. The light had disappeared from behind her silvery eyes again; he had seen this destructive cycle before. Although Luna had changed, he was able to discern whether she had endured a particularly prolonged night of dark hallucinations. The air in the house was thick like molasses, drawing them both to the kitchen with the sunrise.

“Do you think you can help her?” Xenophilius asked the stranger, “just last week she made all of my pots and pans...float. No word of a lie, she put a dent in my favourite copper pot.”

“I certainly do-,” the old man said. His voice was fruity and smooth like well-aged bourbon; it carried throughout the rooms of the Lovegood Rook.

Luna meandered hesitantly in the direction from whence the voice, that she could not put a face to, came. Without making a sound, she eavesdropped on her father’s exchange with the strange voice. She positioned herself the closed kitchen door.

He continued, “As for the floating pots, I’m very pleased that she is showing such promising magical ability at so young of an age. However curious and out of her control, making household objects float is extremely natural for a budding Witch. Remus used to make the dinner plates float in The Great Hall whenever somebody wound him up.”

Xenophilius nodded, “how about her nightmares? They’ve been getting worse every night.”

“Oh, don’t worry about those!” the timeworn man responded, “the sooner we get her to Hogwarts, the more distractions she will have to take her mind off of your wife’s passing. Luna’s emotions are simply manifesting themselves in the form of magic.” He paused for a moment and after taking a sizeable sip of tea, he continued. “Anyways, as I was saying, you just need to give her time...and perhaps a dash of Alihotsy in her morning tea would do her some good – it’ll help with her melancholy.”

Xenophilius glanced at the kitchen door. “Good morning, Luna. Why don’t you come on in and meet our guest?” he said. He had heard her footsteps halt outside of the door and had gathered that she was snooping. He watched as his daughter pushed the door open, revealing the stranger at the table with him.

Luna observed that the man had a long, white beard and piercing blue eyes. She puzzled at him for a moment and turned to her father. “I’m sorry for earwigging-” she began, “but we haven’t had a visitor here in so long.” And they hadn’t; other Wizards, and Muggles alike, typically avoided their scenic hideaway. Xenophilius had always used the excuse that their Rook was just ‘too hard to find’ amid the several acres of woodland that it was cosily nestled in. Perhaps it was the gloomy exterior that drove visitors away. The Lovegood Rook was black in colour and shaped vaguely like a chess piece. On the odd occasion that a passer-by happened to ignore its unwelcoming demeanour, a comment would always be made on how the house swayed from side to side with the wind. Xenophilius always found these comments amusing, as he had fallen in love with ‘look of a hill’, possessing him to lay the foundations of his house upon it, despite its lop-sided surface.

“Right! Our guest!” exclaimed Xenophilius, “this is Professor Dumbledore. He’s the headmaster at Hogwarts. You remember I told you about Hogwarts?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dumbledore said calmly, pulling a pair of half-moon spectacles from his pocket. He placed them on his wrinkled face and smiled. “You must be Luna?”, he inquired, extending a hand.

Luna nodded and accepted the handshake. “Yes. Nice to meet you.”

Dumbledore had worn his favourite velvet suit, in the hopes that he would finally meet her. The fabric was midnight blue, speckled with silver star embroidery. Luna liked it very much; it was eccentric and a bit like herself. He had kind eyes and didn’t seem too intimidating, which Luna also liked about him.

“Your father and I were just discussing your arrival at Hogwarts. I wonder, would you care to join me in a quick turn about the garden? It’s very pleasant outside today.”

Luna glanced over at her father. He bobbed his head enthusiastically in return, which ultimately persuaded Luna to agree to the proposed walk with the Professor.

The pair made their way through the house and stepped out of the front door. Once they were both outside, they began to saunter in the direction of the stream. The Lovegood Rook overlooked a particularly handsome freshwater stream, which ran straight through the centre of the forest. Home to several magical creatures, the stream had been what first sparked Luna’s interest in Magizoology. Luna drank in the fresh summer air, sighing as the breeze ran its way through her dirty-blonde hair. The Lovegood garden, was not extensive; it consisted of a vegetable patch and a small terrace, which were both cast in a gentle shade by the surrounding trees.

“How are you feeling?” Dumbledore asked, breaking the silence between them.

Luna shrugged her shoulders. It had been a year since her mother’s death, or had it been longer? Time hadn’t felt the same to her since. “I thought I was fine – for a while. I feel grey again, the same grey as before”. Her voice cracked a little.

The professor noted the blue undertones that her voice held. He stroked his beard, as though Luna had said something which perplexed him. “I see. Do you think you made the pots float because of your...greyness?”

“I guess,” Luna shrugged once more. She had stopped walking as they had reached the beginning of the stream. She looked up at the professor, “My dad really wants to send me away to live at your school, huh?”

“I wouldn’t use that term, No. You will have to travel to Hogwarts and stay with us during term-time, but you’ll be back home after each term,” Dumbledore said. He patted Luna on the shoulder and smiled. “The floating pots confirmed that you have magical capabilities. You’re a witch, like your parents. All you need now is a place - like Hogwarts - to help you understand and control your magic.”

A guffaw escaped Luna’s lips, “oh, that’s much better than what I was expecting!”

Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out a brownish paper bag and a yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald to Miss L. Lovegood. He handed them both to her. The paper bag contained an assortment of multi-coloured Fizzing Whizzbees; troublesome sherbet balls that loved to levitate.

“Thank you!” said Luna. A small smile crept onto her lips and she popped a Whizzbee into her mouth.

“You’re very welcome, Luna. A little owl divulged to me that Fizzing Whizzbees were your favourite confectionary. Whilst I’m here, we might as well read your letter together. I already know what it is, of course.”

Luna opened the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF

WITCHCRAFT AND WIZADRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.,

Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump,

International Confed. of Wizards)

_Dear Miss Lovegood,_

_We are delighted to inform you of your place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Your first day of term will be the 1 st of September. _

_We await your owl by no later than the 31 st of July._

Luna bit down on her Whizzbee. She gnawed on it, feeling it crunch like glass between her teeth. Sherbet exploded in her mouth like fireworks. “Merlin’s beard! It’s my Hogwarts letter!” she gasped.

“So it is,” Dumbledore hooted, turning back towards the house.

Luna gawked at him. This was the first time she had been excited about anything since her mother died. Perhaps Hogwarts would be the change she needed to help her heal. But what about her nightmares?

“I have nightmares, y’know?” she said, furrowing her brows. “If I have to share a dormitory, I might freak out the other students.”

“Yes, Luna, I know,” Dumbledore replied. He placed a soothing hand on Luna’s shoulder. “We’ll see what we can come up with. Leave it with me.”

Luna smiled once more and chewed on another of her Whizzbees. They walked back to the house in silence, both satisfied that they understood each other now.


End file.
